


The Winners Take It All

by Walkinrobe



Series: So Dramatic [17]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Post win celebrations, PyeongChang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinrobe/pseuds/Walkinrobe
Summary: Here we find ourselves in Pyeongchang, looking for answers to all the big questions.1. Was Tessa really happy to go to gala practice alone? (spoiler alert: no fucking way)2. How did they celebrate their win? (spoiler alert: see chapter rating)3. Is Andrew Poje odd? (spoiler alert: a little)4. Does drunk Scott say some inappropriate shit to his Mom (spoiler alert: 100% yes)





	The Winners Take It All

**Author's Note:**

> So, you have to ignore real life timelines in this chapter. Did all these events happen on the days i say they do? Absolutely no idea, this is fiction, just roll with it 🤪.
> 
> Thank you to those you are still hanging around 17 parts/chapters later. OMGGGGGGGGG!  
> You all deserve a large G&T.
> 
> And while I have your attention if by chance some of the proper writers are listening can we please, please, please manipulate the universe to have updates to these amazing fics during Throwback Week:  
> \- Spare Keys universe  
> \- Holding Out For That Teenage Feeling  
> \- Outside Looking In  
> \- Let’s Talk About Me and You universe  
> \- Wild Horses universe  
> That would be amazing 😉

He wakes, not remembering how he got into bed last night. It’s embarrassing to recall how many times this has happened in his life. Too many to count. But it hasn’t happened in the recent past. Not in the last two years anyways, definitely not in the lead up to Pyeongchang.

Except for last November. When he and Tess downed a bottle of Tequila to celebrate her not being pregnant. What’s the relevance of this to the here and now? He doesn’t really care. His alcohol addled brain must be running in limp-home mode.

His mouth feels like glue. Gritty glue. Stale, gritty glue. Was he smoking last night? Fuck, that’s a throwback to 2015 too. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Literally stuck. He didn’t realise that was physically possible. He opens his mouth as wide as he can to unshackle his tongue from the ridges lining the top of his oral cavity. It makes a popping sound. He runs the tip of his tongue along the back of his teeth. Motherfucker. That is absolutely disgusting, clearly no personal hygiene was attended to before he fell asleep last night. He rubs the side of his face to find crusted drool. 

He’s laying on the side of the bed facing the window. It’s still dark outside. But it must be closer to sunrise than midnight. He tries to focus his eyes in the dark but it’s hurts his head. 

Where the hell is he? Summoning his remaining cognitive function he turns over in bed to look to his left. It hurts his head just as much as he expected. However, he’s rewarded by finding his girl next to him. She’s on her back, spread out like a starfish and completely naked, but still wearing her gold medal winning performance eye make-up from yesterday.

He reaches out with his right hand and strokes her cheek.

‘Please don’t touch me’ she croaks. ‘I’m in that sucky purgatory between moderately drunk and feeling the start of a massive hangover. I’m entering that shitful locale where you’re coming down from cosy drunkenness and barrelling towards regret and physical pain. I hate everyone right now’ she moans.

‘Even me, Virtch?’ he manages via a hoarse snigger.

‘Especially you’, she mutters, rolling closer to him, placing her head on his chest and throwing a leg over his thigh. ‘But I also love you more than anyone and am so glad to be laying here together in this putrid state’.

‘If it makes you feel better I was so drunk I don’t even remember getting into this bed. So my threshold for plausible deniability is very low’, he confesses. ‘Are we in the Hilton hotel hear the Gangneung Ice Arena?’

‘Yep. You insisted on us staying together. You even made our moms go to the athletes’ dorms and get our travel kits and clothes for the media today. Which I thought was a bit much at the time, but I’m now thinking was a genius move’. 

She runs her hand over his cheek and tilts her head up to kiss him under his jaw.

‘Don’t think too highly of me. I certainly didn’t use anything from my travel kit before I collapsed onto this bed. I expect I have the body odour and breath of a ninety year-old, chain smoking sailor’ he confesses, his eyes shut.

He’s trying to piece together their movements from yesterday. Gold medal winning free dance performance - flower ceremony - shower and change - dinner with family - medal ceremony - Canada House - then a hazy nothing.

Instantly, his eyes fly open.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuck. Did I kiss my Mom goodbye at the hotel room door and use my fingers to do air quotes thanking her in advance for ‘facilitating our private gold medal celebration’?’ 

He slaps himself on the forehead and immediately regrets it as the reverberation of his skull stings his eyes and blurs his vision.

‘You did’ she softly chuckles. ‘Then you pointed to the bed and told Charlie ‘That’s where the magic is gonna happen’. You followed that up by giving your brother the bird. Your Mom rolled her eyes and kissed me on the cheek. She said to me ‘He’s all your’s Tess’. She had this tired, resigned voice. I think it was primarily signalling she’s the mother of three dickhead sons. God, I hope that won’t be me one day’.

He makes faux crying sounds. 

Tessa continues, ‘Not to worry, I think all will be forgiven, it’s not everyday we win a gold medal. Your Mom will cut you some slack. But it’s likely that Charlie will tell Danny. Danny will tell Jordan. She’ll tell my brothers and the five of them will forever chirp about the ‘magic of our bedroom’’, she says using her own air quotes. 

‘You’re just a lovable moron’ she fondly sighs.

‘Fuck me’ he groans.

‘Good segue. Despite your, somewhat confusing, talk of a big night involving our four gold medals and some assorted karma sutra style sex positions, I emerged from the shower to discover you sprawled out, naked, asleep on the bed’. She pokes his side with her finger.

‘In hindsight, I think that was the best outcome’ he concedes.

‘Indeed. You’re gonna have to call your Mom and thank her. You insisted she book and pay for this room, to make sure no one would cotton-on that we were in here together. So, you did hang onto a shred of common sense in amongst the Tom-fuckery. My role for most of the evening was to hide how utterly drunk I was. And I think I pulled that off’. She sounds drowsy, the volume and pace of her speech dropping off.

He feels himself drifting back to sleep. 

Before he succumbs to dreamland he gets out a final acclamation, ‘I guess, in that case, congratulations on your two stellar performances from yesterday’. 

*

Almost everything they do is underpinned by a sense of honest, agreeable togetherness. It sounds almost infantile in its simplicity. But it’s not. It’s trust, it’s active dispute resolution, its compromise and its communication. 

Getting to Pyeongchang has been hard work. Winning those medals even harder. It has given her faith that this relationship is unshakable. That they’ll be able to barrel through the crap that life dishes their way. And the crap they dish each other’s way.

Which is where she finds herself at this moment. Being dished crap.

‘How the hell is that fair?’ she storms across the the tiny dorm room she’s sharing with Kaitlyn.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Breathe through his selfish arseholicness. Don’t yell, don’t yell, these walls are paper thin. You love him, you love him, you love him. 

Those are the thoughts that run through her head in quick succession as she stands in front of Scott with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She’s so mad right now. 

‘You’re expecting me to go to the gala practice alone tomorrow so you can head off to the women’s hockey final with all our friends? Why the fuck do I have to take one for team Virtue Moir? I love the hockey girls just as much as you do’ she spits. 

She eyeballs him hard. 

He doesn’t flinch. It’s a bad sign. She can see his compromise skills are in idle, definitely not in gear.

It’s been an interminable day of post gold medal media. A mixed bag of interviews. Some enjoyable, some boring as batshit. Laughing politely, dodging umpteen cross-examinations about their relationship. Answering the same questions over and over like little, medal winning hampsters, endlessly running on the publicity wheel. 

And she truly is so gleeful and thankful to have won those medals. She really is - to Scott, their coaches, B2Ten, their families, to Canada, blah, blah, blah. 

But.

But. 

But. 

Right now she’s dehydrated. She’s hangry. She’s still feeling mildly hungover. She’s tired. And her very much unplatonic skating partner is being an unreasonable prick.

‘I want to go to that game too. You go to the fucking gala practice’ she counter-offers.

She sees him clench his jaw and take a steadying breath. It’s sexy as fuck but she pushes those feelings away and focuses on her outrage. 

She sees Scott’s thought process wash across his features. He is digging deep to compromise. It’s similar to the stages of grief. Denial, anger, depression, bargaining and finally, acceptance.

‘You know, FINE, we will both go to the gala practice’ he replies in a super-calm-but-not-quite-covering-up-the-seething-with-disappointment tone of voice.

‘Not fine’ she says through gritted teeth.  
‘You’re right that we don’t both have to go to the gala practice. One of us should go to the hockey. Let’s play for it’.

His stance changes immediately. His shoulders relax and the tone of his voice is conciliatory. ‘OK. Let’s play for it. How?’

‘Flip a coin. I’ll call’ she offers with a smirk.

*

She should have called ‘heads’. 

Motherfucker.

*

The women’s team lost the hockey final and half of the Canadian Olympic team has been commiserating with them at Canada House. 

Turns out commiserating involves way more alcohol than celebrating. She wonders if her blood alcohol level has dropped into the ‘legally able to drive’ level in the past 48 hours. Probably not.

‘How good are Cheeseburgers?’ asks Kaitlyn with a satisfied groan.

After moving on from Canada House she’s currently standing with Kaitlin, Scott, Chiddy and Poje outside the Olympic Village McDonalds. It’s windy and cold. Perfect sobering up weather.

‘Fuck me. How good are Big Macs and fries?’ mumbles Scott as he shovels the delicious, stringy, salty, deep fried potato strips into his mouth.

‘So good. So good’. It’s all she can muster in response. 

The dopamine hit from breaking her two-year denial of greasy food is overwhelming. She’s completely blissed out on refined sugar and saturated fats.

It’s at this time that Poje decides to give a drunken masterclass in local McDonalds’ nomenclature. 

Poje is an odd guy.

‘You know what they call McDonalds in France?’ he surveys.

They all give a collective ‘Huh?’

‘McDo’ he asserts to their blank faces.

‘In Hong Kong it’s Mak Kee. Australians call it Maccas. In Scotland it’s McD’s’ he proudly continues. 

His behaviour is truly baffling. He completely lacks the ability to pick up social cues.

Scott turns to her. 

‘How drunk am I? Is this really happening?’ he asks her through a mouthful of sesame-seed bun and special sauce. 

‘Apparently so,’ she giggles.

Poje powers on.

‘And my favourite is Germany. Any guesses to what it’s called there?’ he looks expectantly to his McDonalds’ guzzling companions.

‘McCouldn’tGiveAFuck?’ suggests Scott.

‘McHowDidINotKnowYouKnewThisShit?’ laughs Kaitlyn.

‘Nah, I’m not guessing’. Chiddy dips a McNugget in sweet and sour sauce then tosses it in his mouth.

‘Tess! You’ll guess, won’t you?’ Andrew begs, eyes like a puppy, his floppy hair adding to the effect.

‘I’m too drunk to engage in this shitshow. But I thank you for providing an unsolicited opportunity to broaden my cultural horizon. And a memory for which you will be mercilessly mocked until the end of time’ she gently pats Poje on the shoulder in consolation.

‘That’s my girl’, Scott gives her a fist bump.

‘We’re gonna head off’ Kaitlyn announces. ‘Our folks are staying at the Hilton and we promised we’d join them for a drink. Tess, I’m gonna crash there tonight, so don’t expect me back in the dorm, OK’.

They say their goodbyes, Kaitlyn and  
Poje strolling away, huddled together against the cold.

‘It’s called Mekkes’ Poje yells over his shoulder. 

‘Life changing information’ deadpans Chiddy.

*

The walk to the athletes’ dorm is just the right length to have them emerge from the cocoon of drunkenness as they stroll into the lobby. They’re stopped and congratulated by everyone they pass. Tess is gracious and patient, with friends and strangers alike. He loves her for this generosity, it carries him through the drudgery, especially as all he wants to do is get to bed. 

It’s another 45 minutes later when they’re done talking to people. Chiddy has long abandoned them for a night with his girlfriend.

‘Let’s get to bed’ he gives her shit-eating grin as they enter the lift for the short journey up a couple of floors.

‘You’re tired?’ she smirks.

‘Not in the slightest’ he kisses her ear and smacks her backside as they exit on the second floor.

He can’t get them into her room fast enough. He grabs her hand and pulls her along what seems to be a never ending corridor.

‘Fuck, this is like a bloody horror movie where the hallway suddenly stretches out to the horizon and your destination seems unreachable’ he huffs.

‘Eager, Moir?’ she nudges his shoulder as they trot.

He looks around then quickly backs her against the wall, grabbing her face with one hand, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her to him roughly and giving her a searing kiss. 

He bends his head to whisper in her ear.  
‘I’ve missed sleeping next to you each night. And I can’t wait to fuck you slowly and thoroughly’, he promises.

She reaches out to stroke her thumb across his lips. It makes his heart sing when she touches him with such tenderness. 

She smiles and stands on her tippy toes to whisper something back to him. His skin crackles as she runs her hands down his biceps to hold his elbows.

‘Me too. I love you, Scott Moir. You’re the one’. 

Hearing her say that? It never gets old. He knows he’s a lucky bastard. Gold medals. Girl of his dreams. Winning those gold medals with the girl of his dreams. Pyeongchang has not disappointed.

She nods her head in the direction of her room.

‘Race you!’ she says before she sprints down the hallway.

*

They literally tumble through the doorway in their hurry to get into her room. Scott trips on her skatebag, falling onto his hands and knees. She topples over catching herself on his back before she crashes into the wall.

‘For fuck’s sake, Tessa Jane. We are having a post-coital discussion about you and your shitful mess’ he grumbles.

‘You don’t find it romantic to trip on my crap?’ she asks as she extricates herself from where she’s wedged between the wall and his hip.

He extends his hand and pulls her to standing.

‘Oddly enough, I do not’. 

She can tell he is mildly cranky. She also knows his desire to slide inside her is overruling his outrage. She wants to drive him a little crazy before they get started, so she intentionally draws out the moment.

‘You didn’t imagine that’s how we’d begin our first time fucking each other after winning the gold?’ she teases

‘Oddly enough, I did not’. 

He knows exactly what game she’s playing.

She glides her hands up his chest and clasps her hands around his neck. She brushes her lips against the spot under his ear she knows drive him crazy. His skin feels so warm and soft. She’s missed his smell. 

She drags her lips down his neck then skates them across the skin of his throat.

He groans in appreciation.

‘I’ve missed you. I know we slept in the same bed the other night but drunken cuddles are a sad second to what we’re doing now’ she sighs.

She pushes off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, then accidentally steps on it when she manoeuvres him backwards towards the bathroom. He brings their lips together in a fusion of desperation and homecoming. She can feel his cock already hard, pushing against her stomach. 

Please don’t ever let the sex stop being this good she implores the universe.

While still kissing she peels off her own jacket and throws it on Kaitlyn’s bed. She wishes she wasn’t wearing so many fucking layers. The best she can do is use it to her advantage. A slow strip tease on the cards, she thinks.

But Scott is on to her. Before she can even say anything to effect her plan, Scott scuttles the idea.

‘Sweetheart, I want you,’ he drawls. ‘Right now. I don’t wanna wait a moment longer. Just take them off. Please’.

‘Sometimes I hate that you can read my mind. You don’t want to watch me slowly remove my clothes?’ she taunts, spinning them around so she backs into the darkened bathroom, skidding her hand across the tiles and into the shower recess, turning on the hot water.

‘Nope’, he grabs her, wrapping his arms around her body to inch his hands under her waistband. His warm hands find her ass cheeks and he squeezes. 

‘I just want to fuck you’ he growls. 

It’s hot as fuck when he talks like this. Made all the hotter by the fact that none of it is ever disingenuous or an act. It’s his base desire simmering to the surface

And she’s not going to argue. She agrees wholeheartedly. Let’s do it. She raises her hands in the air and he efficiently removes both her long sleeve top and t-shirt in one swift move.

The hot water from the shower is starting to slowly steam up the bathroom. The light from the bedroom is giving everything in the bathroom a soft, yellow glow. She’d describe it as ‘classy porn’ lighting.

While she’s been contemplating the ambience Scott has removed his jumper and t-shirt. His chest is so deliciously well defined. She runs her hand across his pecs. It makes her ache between the legs.

‘Tell me what your gonna do to me, Moir. You gonna take me in the shower?’ she flirts.

He says nothing and slowly shakes is head. 

Silently, he undoes the button of his jeans and snakes his hand into his pants, pushing the waistband down to his thighs. He withdraws his hand from his boxers, holding his erect cock. He strokes himself one, twice, three times, then runs his finger over the tip. He gives her the sexy Moir smile.

Yes please, she wants his cock. Now.

She steps towards him. 

He pulls her close and kisses her neck, she can hear the wet smack of his lips. It’s a hard, firm sound. It’s at odds with the rhythmic sound of the shower.

‘Turn around and put your hands on the bathroom counter please’. She hears the strain in his voice and feels him shudders with want.

She immediately complies. She’s still wearing her jeans. They both still have on their Team Canada shoes. How fucking patriotic of them.

She watches him in the cloudy bathroom mirror as he releases his cock to remove her jeans and underwear. He leaves them both in a crumpled mess around her ankles. She can feel the tip of his cock resting against the small of her back. As he splays his right hand across her stomach he draws his lips across her shoulder. He brings his hands to her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples as he whispers filthy things into her ear. She wiggles her ass against him to encourage him to move things along.

He wipes the steam off the mirror with his right hand, meeting her gaze before moving both her hands forward on the counter, almost to the wall, then he pulls her hips back towards him. She’s slightly bent forwards, the perfect position for him to drive his cock into her from behind.

‘You ready?’ he asks.

She looks deep into his eyes and nods.

‘I want you to say it’ he encourages.

She looks into the mirror and he stares back.

‘I’m ready’ she winks.

*

All the swear words.

Just all the swear words.

That’s what he wants to say as he inches into her for the first time in eight days. 

Thank God. It’s heaven.

He watches her close her eyes, her head dropping forwards as he tightly holds her hips and his cock coasts in and out of her cunt.

It feels warm and wet and right. Like home. Everything they’re doing right now? It’s fucking perfect. 

‘This is one of the best things we do together’ she moans. She arches her back and it slightly changes the angle.

And ohhhhhhhhhh. This is now better than fucking perfect. The pressure on his cock is positively arresting, already the delectable feeling is starting to overwhelm him. 

She’s making the sexiest whimpering sound and he’s at sensory overload. 

Nope. Nope. Nope. He doesn’t want this to end yet so he slides out. 

She gasps.

‘What?’ she pants.

‘It’s all good’ he smiles.

He spins her around then lifts her to sit on the counter. He tears off her jeans and shoes and spreads her legs, then slowly slides two fingers into her opening while using his thumb to circle her clit. 

He uses the other hand to gently rub the nipple of her left breast between his thumb and forefinger. He kisses her mouth slow and soft, the rhythm matching his hands. 

He doesn’t have to continue for very long before she pulls her head back and holds onto the hand he has inside her. She moves her hips a little faster.

‘Scott’ she sighs, ‘I’m gonna come’.

‘I want you to come, Sweetheart. Do it’.

His fingers are still buried inside as her orgasm overtakes her, contracting around his fingers as her hips continue to rock. It’s such a fucking turn on, his cock feels like a fully loaded rocket.

*

Fuck. So good. That’s all her brain can offer her right now. Fuck. So good.

Then flicks into ‘get Scott off’ mode.

She hops down from the counter and moves to turn on the cold tap in the shower. The steam within the bathroom has reached maximum density. It’s moved from ‘a classy porn’ to an ‘early morning fog’ vibe. Not that she really gives a fuck.

She takes his hand and leads him towards the shower. She plays around to find the perfect water temperature while he shucks off his pants and shoes.

‘Some of your best work back there, Moir’ she toys. ‘Thank you’.

He kisses her cheek and whispers ‘I try my best’. He smiles before cupping her face and kissing her breathless. The hot water dances about them.

She drops her hands to his cock, as a prelude to dropping on her knees.

‘Let me be of service’ she gives him a sordid look before taking his cock in her mouth.

He places his hands on the wall in front of him and slowly rolls his hips. She’s gone down on him countless times during their relationship but today there is something extra. In more detail than ever before he talks her through exactly what he wants her to do and how her mouth is making him feel. It’s hot as hell and she’s struck by the trust he has in her, and their relationship, to be able to be so honest. 

She knows he’s very close to coming when he softly says ‘Now’.

Scott helps her to her feet and says ‘Jump up, you ready?’ 

Fuck yes, she’s ready.

‘Please’ she responds, immediately jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. He rests her back against the tiles and helps her slowly sink down onto him.

The exhale in unison.

She encases her arms around his neck and they fuck slowly and intensely under the hot water. Her head is tucked into his shoulder and she can hear him grunting as he thrusts. It’s right into her ear. With each thrust she thinks about how much she adores him and she never wants to let him go. 

And then he’s coming, and the sporadic pressure of his hips triggers her orgasm. They breathe heavily as they come down from the high.

He looks up at her and kisses her nose.

‘You know we’re gonna live happily ever after, right?’ he smiles.

‘Undoubtedly’ she laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddayathink?
> 
> Was that alright?


End file.
